


Fortune Favours the Bold

by InOmniaParatus



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Violence, M/M, Sex Work, Shota, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8005144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InOmniaParatus/pseuds/InOmniaParatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy is tired of watching Dean beat up his mum, and he thinks he knows just who to ask to "take care of it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune Favours the Bold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [x57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/gifts).



> As always, love to Freebird for being such a massive help.

Eggsy used to climb into his wardrobe when he played hide-and-go-seek with his dad. He'd try to make himself as small as he could so that the door would shut, but he had grown too much in the last couple of years. It'd always be open, just a sliver, just enough to watch his dad search his room high and low—under the bed, in the rubbish bin, on top of the bookshelf—even though Eggsy was always, always in the wardrobe.

Thinking about it now made his tummy twist unpleasantly, but he tried to hold onto the memory anyway.

He was far too big for the wardrobe now, but Eggsy didn't care that the doors wouldn't close or that he was a big kid and was meant to be brave.

It was hard to be brave with all the yelling and crying in the flat. Dean was angry with Mum again—about money and about his dinner—and when Dean got angry, he hit.

He didn't used to be that way—when they'd first met Dean, he'd been nice. He bought Mum flowers and Eggsy sweets. He brought back Mum's smile.

Mum didn't smile anymore.

She told Eggsy not to worry, though—that it's her own fault he knocks her around, that they're lucky Dean's there to look after them.

Glass broke and there was a loud thump in the next room. Eggsy covered his ears with his small hands to muffle the sound and tried not to think about his mum getting knocked into the wall.

He wished he was big enough to take care of her— _really_ take care of her, not just make her toast with marmalade for tea when she’s too hurt to cook or bring her an ice pack when her eye is swollen.

He wished he could take her away from here, away from Dean and their small flat she had to work two jobs to pay for. But he needed money for that, and he’d heard enough to know that there weren’t a lot of jobs going spare, even for the grown ups.

Dean had tried to get him to deliver drugs for him, once, for ten quid, but his mum had gone mental. She said it was a good way to get kidnapped or stabbed and forbade him from doing it.

There was always stealing, he supposed. He could pick pockets like Oliver Twist. But…Oliver got caught, didn’t he? Right away, too. He wouldn’t be much good to his mum from jail.

He was running out of ideas.

There was that one time, though, that Dean and his mates were giving Poodle a hard time about “peddlin’ his arse” on Smith Street when he was a teenager. Eggsy had reckoned Poodle would get mad, but he just shrugged it off. He said that it put food on the table and kept the lights on at his flat, so he didn’t have any regrets.

So it must’ve earned lots of money, right? Mum told him the electric bill wasn’t cheap. And teenagers weren’t all that different from kids.

Except they were bigger. And stronger. And able to look after themselves.

Plus, Eggsy wasn’t too sure what all peddling his arse meant. He _thought_ it had something to do with sex, but the grown ups all got cagey when he asked.

So maybe it wasn’t safe, either. He wasn’t sure.

And, he wondered, if it _was_ sex, would him being a kid mess it all up? He thought grown ups only had sex with other grown ups. Would it be harder because he was so small?

What he really needed, then, was a grown up with money who didn’t think he was just some little kid. Which cut out Smith Street, because all the grown ups in this neighbourhood talk to him like he was _way_ younger than he is.

There was that one bloke, though, who came round when his dad died. He was real nice, acted like he was real grown and all. He’d said he could have a favour _and_ told him to look after his mum, like he really could.

Thoughts and half-formed plans buzzed around his mind for awhile. He tried to think what sort of favour he should ask for. A house, maybe, or just money. Or maybe a safer place than Smith Street, where they don’t mind kids so much and pay lots. Eggsy wasn’t sure if the bloke would know where to find a place like that, and he didn’t know how big a favour he could ask for—pretty big, he reckoned, because it was supposed to make up for his dad being dead and all.

After a while, Eggsy heard the door to his flat slam and knew Dean had stormed off to the Black Prince to get pissed. He shimmed out of his hiding spot and crept out of his room to check on his mum.

She was sleeping when he found her, on the sofa—at least, Eggsy hoped she was only sleeping. She was definitely breathing. But her face…

Her whole face was bloody. Both her eyes were swollen shut, and her lip was split. Between them, her cheeks red and her nose was all puffed up and sort of crooked. She was cradling her arm close to her chest.

Looking at her, Eggsy felt like a teapot—boiling and boiling with hot-water rage until it filled him up and threatened to steam up out of him.

He closed his little fist around the medallion around his neck and knew what he was going to ask for.

☂

“I’m sorry, what?”

Eggsy sat across the table from the nice man—Harry—and munched on his chicken nuggets. His feet didn’t reach the floor, but he tried to pretend it wasn’t obvious.

Harry said he’d been surprised that Eggsy had called, and looked even more surprised to hear Eggsy’s request.

“I want you to kill my mum’s boyfriend.”

The older man seemed as though he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t sound like he was making fun of Eggsy when he replied.

“I don’t think murder is quite what I had in mind when I offered you and your mum a favour, Eggsy.”

He’d thought of that, of course. “You told me to look after my mum, yeah? Well, he hits her, a lot. And he takes all her money to buy drugs. Her broke her arm three nights ago, and now she can’t cut hair no more.”

“Any more.”

“What?”

Harry smiled. “Your mum can’t cut hair _any_ more.” He leaned forward. “Tell me, Eggsy. Does he hit you, too?”

Eggsy squirmed a bit in his seat. He accidentally knocked into Harry’s long legs with his trainers. “I ain’t the point here. You said we could have a favour.”

“Killing someone is quite the favour.”

“Okay, like, I thought about that. And you’re right,” he said, hoping to impress Harry with his cleverness. For this to work, he needed to seem more grown up.

Harry smirked and brought his cup to his lips. “I’m glad you see that now.”

“So, you can have sex with me.”

If Harry was surprised before, he was shocked now. He choked on his coffee, and spilled it all down the front of him.

“Jesus Chr—” he sputtered, pressing cheap paper napkins to his shirt. “Excuse me?”

“I said, you can have sex—”

“Yes, yes. I heard you. Keep your bloody voice down.”

“And you wouldn’t have to, like, pay me.”

Harry sighed and gave up on his shirt, chucking the balled-up napkins on the table. “Pay you?”

“Right. So you wouldn’t owe us any more favours and it’d save you a few quid, too.”

“What in the world makes you think I _pay_ for sex?” Harry asked. He pinched the bridge of his nose, like Eggsy’s mum did when she had a headache. “Don’t answer that.”

Eggsy sat quietly. He knew from experience that whining and wheedling wasn’t the way to get what he wanted—he had to let Harry think it over.

“Alright, putting aside the…bizarreness of your suggestion for a moment,” Harry finally said. “How would I know that the moment I…shall we say…take care of your mother’s friend, you wouldn’t run right to the police?”

“Oi! I’m no snitch. I ain’t never grassed no one up.”

“Do you want to know who else claims not to snitch? Snitches. And even if you’re not, how can I be certain you’d…live up to your end of the bargain?”

Eggsy thought that was a fair point—and a promising one. If he was asking questions like this, surely it meant that he was thinking about it. “We could do the sex first. Like, half of it. And then the other half after.”

It seemed like the right thing to say—he’d overheard Dean saying something like that on the phone once.

“Half of sex? Eggsy, do you actually know what sex is?”

Not really. “Yeah, of course. I ain’t a little kid.”

Harry laughed a bit, but it was a bit odd, kind of high and mad. “So, to clarify. You are offering two sexual encounters and spending your favour in exchange for the death of—what was his name?”

“Dean. Dean Baker. But yeah. That’s the deal. I wanna be there, though.”

 

☂

 

In the end, Harry agreed—but only if Eggsy would wait a week and mull it over. He gave Eggsy his business card—and what was his dad doing, mucking about with tailors? His dad didn’t wear suits or nothing—and told him to call if he changed his mind or if things got dangerous.

Eggsy hadn’t changed his mind.

Harry’s plan was a simple one. Eggsy would tell his mum that he was staying the weekend with one his mates, and bunk off to Harry’s instead. He’d said he’d take care of all the Dean stuff. All Eggsy had to worry about was getting out of the house.

He’d been excited all week, powerful. He could finally _do_ something, after months of feeling trapped and useless. His mum would be okay, because after this, he’d take _proper_ care of her.

He was still buzzing with enthusiasm when he knocked on Harry’s door, like he’d swallowed a whole hive of honeybees.

Harry looked pleased to see him. Eggsy knew that he fancied being polite and all, but the man’s smile stayed plastered on his face while Harry showed him around the house and introduced him to his cranky old dog, Mr Pickle.

“Don’t mind him,” Harry said, leading him up the stairs. “He’s only sulking because he had to see the vet. He’s usually much friendlier.”

The bedroom was twice as big as his, easy, and the bed looked like a big comfy cloud. Eggsy hadn’t ever seen so many pillows in one place before, not even in the shops.

Harry was still smiling, but it was a different sort of smile. It was like that time Ryan put a fiver in the machine at the arcade and it spat out twenty quid worth of tokens. He couldn’t believe his luck, and his smile then was just like Harry’s smile now.

“We’re all set for this evening. Your mum’s friend is…we’ll say secured. We simply need to wait until staff in that area leaves for the night, lest we be seen.”

Eggsy nodded, relieved. Dean had still been sprawled out in front of the telly when he’d left for school, and he’d come straight to Harry’s from there. He’d been half-worried that he’d have to follow Dean down some dark alley.

Harry sat at the end of his bed and took off his house slippers. “Do you want to get started, or would you like a cup of tea first?”

Oh. Eggsy somehow hadn’t realized that was why they were in the bedroom. He hadn’t thought about it at all, completely caught up in what was going to happen with Dean tonight and, after, with his mum.

He hadn’t _forgotten_ his end of the bargain. It just hadn’t seemed all that important, really, in the grander scheme of things.

But now, Eggsy was looking at Harry, at how much bigger he was, and felt a wave of nervousness.  What if Harry hurt him? What if Harry got cross that he had bugger all idea what he was doing? What if—

“Eggsy?”

He gave himself a tiny mental shake. He’d said he would do this, and now he had to. It was for his mum, for their future, and Harry was a nice sort, anyway.

“No,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

Harry laughed, delighted. “Let’s do this, indeed. Why don’t you start by taking off your kit?”

Little hands made quick work of his school jumper. He cursed his own stupidity. Of course Harry would want his uniform off. Eggsy had been trying this whole time to seem grown up, and here he was in kid clothes like an idiot.

Once he’d gotten everything off, he looked back towards the bed. He hoped Harry would tell him what to do next.

“Look at you. Bold as brass.”

Harry’s cheeks were pink, like he was blushing, and his eyes were kind of shiny. He reached out and ran his fingertips gently over Eggsy’s tummy, making him giggle.

“Tickles,” he huffed.

“Is that so?”

Eggsy found himself hauled up onto the bed, writhing and wiggling. Harry tickled him until he couldn’t breathe from laughing so much. When he stopped, they were both grinning, both practically panting, and Harry was hovering over him, propped up on his elbows.

He took Eggsy’s small hands and brought them to the fly of his trousers, letting out a shuddering breath as Eggsy drew the zip down.

Harry was gentle as he guided Eggsy’s touch and Eggsy found himself getting lost in the new sensations. He’d never had anyone touch him like that before—not just because it was _there_ , but so hungrily. He didn’t think there was single part of his body Harry didn’t touch with his hands or his mouth.

Later, when Harry moaned and coated their tummies in sticky goo, Eggsy was rather sad it was over.

☂

 

Dean was _not_ happy to see him. 

Well, Eggsy supposed, Dean didn’t seem too happy regardless, hanging by his feet on a meat hook as he was, but he _definitely_ swore a lot more when Eggsy walked into the room.

Eggsy blushed, but Harry didn’t seem too bothered. He shoved something round into Dean’s mouth, so that he looked a bit like a roast pig, and told him to mind his manners.

“Now,” Harry said, making Dean swing a bit with a little shove. “You said last week that he knocked around your mum, yes?”

Eggsy nodded, following Dean’s queasy motion with his eyes.

“And I asked you if he did the same to you. Did he?”

He didn’t answer. Eggsy didn’t think this was about him, and he didn’t want Harry to think he couldn’t look after himself.

“I see. Well, here he is. Hit him back. Go on.”

Eggsy stood still a moment, not knowing if he should or not. It didn’t seem sporting to hit a man while he was all tied up like that, but it also didn’t seem fair to hit kids and girls when Dean was so big.

He balled up his fist and took a swing, connecting weakly with Dean’s meaty shoulder.

“Christ, not like that,” Harry said. “You can’t do your fist like that. You’ll break your thumb.”

Harry showed him how to hold his fist properly, with his thumb on the outside and out of the way, and how to punch with more force.

Dean’s muffled grunts of pain were were so satisfying, like they were washing away all the nights in hiding his wardrobe, all the days of lying to his teacher about the bruises.

He kept punching and punching and _punching_ until Harry pulled him into a cuddle, murmuring praise into Eggsy’s hair.

“You’re doing so well, my darling. So well,” Harry said, voice gentle. “Are you sure you want to stay? I can finish up on my own.”

Eggsy shook his head against Harry’s shoulder. “No. I wanna stay.”

Harry pulled back and smiled a wide, eye-crinkling smile. “What a brave boy.”

He ruffled Eggsy’s hair and straightened up. He pulled a knife from his pocket. Behind him, Dean was screaming behind his gag, struggling, wiggling around like a worm.

“Alright, Eggsy. You’ll want to stand back. It’s…a bit messy.”

Eggsy scurried out of the way as Harry pushed a button. The hook inched up in almost painful slowness.

Harry grabbed a fistful of hair, brought the knife up to Dean’s throat, and sliced.

  


☂

 

Eggsy was still in a daze back at Harry’s—and only mildly came out of it once Harry put him in the shower.

There had been so much blood.

It wasn’t that he regretted asking Harry to do it, or even staying. He was glad Dean was dead.

He just…hadn’t expected all the blood.

Harry was completely calm the whole time, even now while they were in the shower together. He was washing Eggsy’s hair like he was three or something. His mum wouldn’t wash his hair anymore, not even when he was sick.

“This shampoo’s for babies,” he said, dumbly. It was the first thing he’d said since they had left the warehouse.

“I know,” Harry said. His voice was fond and gentle. “I keep it for Mr Pickle. He loves to dig up the back garden.”

Eggsy made a small humming sound, not sure he could imagine the cranky terrier covered in dirt.

They were quiet while Harry rinsed his hair and dried him off with the fluffiest towel Eggsy had ever felt.

Harry swooped him up and carried him into the bedroom, settling them down together under the covers without even putting on pyjamas first. He felt warm and safe in Harry’s arms.

“I like the way it smells on you.” Harry whispered it, like he was telling a secret.

Eggsy’s eyelids started to drift shut. “We’re supposed to—supposed to—” They had a deal and Eggsy wanted to hold up his end of the bargain—really wanted to. If only he could keep his eyes open.

“Tomorrow. Sleep now, Eggsy. Everything’s fine.”

Everything was more than fine. He was safe and his mum was safe. Eggsy could look after her now…and maybe, he thought, if he was lucky, Harry would keep looking after Eggsy.


End file.
